Dear John
by johnsarmylady
Summary: After his return, Sherlock is having difficulty in expressing himself. A little bit of smut for MapleleafCameo. Rated M because I think that's appropriate.


**The wonderful MapleleafCameo challenged me to write a little more smut, and to help me on my way gave me the following three words - TREMBLE, WASH and FERVENT. Now, if you haven't read her stories, I recommend you do so, as she is the most amazing storyteller. **  
**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the mistakes in my original storylines...**

It had been three weeks since Sherlock finally laid the last of Moriarty's network to rest, three weeks since he had stepped through the doorway of 221B to see John staring at him with tears streaming from his dark blue eyes, his whole body trembling with a mixture of fear and anger.

A further week was to pass before John felt ready to listen – really listen – to the reason Sherlock had jumped. And Sherlock had had no difficulty in keeping his impatience in check, because even if he hadn't had regular reports from his brother the older man's suffering was written clearly on his face.

Forgiveness had been swift and absolute, and that night John had gently pulled his lover back to the room they had shared before the fall. There had been a desperation in their lovemaking, as if needing to claw back the time they had lost, and both men had collapsed, exhausted, as the sun broke through the ever present smog of the London dawn.

For Sherlock however, there was still more that he needed to say, but after so long away he had relearned how to shield his emotions, and in the process forgotten how to vocalise his feelings. John had been patient, and if he was aware of the younger man's difficulty he made no move to force him to talk about his feelings.

Lying with their bodies entwined, Sherlock stared up at the moonlight dappling the ceiling, a fleeting memory passed across his mind.

"You'll probably laugh," John had said as they sat together one evening, "But I used to write letters to you, tell you everything that had happened, ask you to come back when the loneliness got too much."

John had burned each letter as soon as it was written – he'd laughed and blushed, claiming he didn't want incriminating evidence of his mental aberrations lying around in case Lestrade decided on another drugs bust. They'd both laughed at the thought, but now, as he lay cradling John against him, a letter seemed the best way to sort out his tumbling thoughts, and maybe he would find the courage to say them out loud, so in his head he started to compose the most important letter he would ever write.

_Dear John,_

_When I told you I missed you, when I said life without you had been hard, those words barely scratched the surface of the feelings that almost crushed me while I was away from you._

_As I watched you watching me, saw your tears, heard the pain in your voice on that awful day I almost failed in my resolve to do this thing. Time after time I found myself in dirty hostels__, or run down hotels, and I'd cry, thinking of how you screamed my name, and I'd wish that my tears could _**wash**_ away your pain._

_In my darkest hours, I took to retreating to a new room in my mind palace, a room where we made love, where I could be surrounded__ by your warmth. In our room I would revel in your ministrations, you move above me and I _**tremble**_ under your hand__, as you stroke across every sensitive area, every erogenous zone, bringing me to sobbing climax__. _

_So many times I wished I could hold you close so you could bask in my _**fervent**_ adoration of your body, __letting my tongue worship you and my lips kiss every inch of your beautiful body. There were__ times I feared it would n__ever be more than a wish, a dream. _

_John, every day that passed I wanted to tell you that I love you and I miss you, yet here I am, holding you in my arms, and I have lost the ability to say this out loud. _

_One day soon, I hope I will find the courage to tell you all that I have written here. Until then I have to trust our actions really do speak louder than words…_

A delicate shiver passed through Sherlock's lean limbs, and he pulled the blond man closer into his arms.

Not opening his eyes, John moved his head further onto the pale toned chest, placing a soft kiss above his lover's heart.

"I know" he whispered with a smile. "You don't have to say anything more."


End file.
